


Inked In Skin and Stars

by TheWritingSquid



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Credo is Alive, Day At The Beach, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Family Fluff, Family antics, Gen, Shamelessly Imported my Three Rebirth Orphans shhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:00:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24370969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWritingSquid/pseuds/TheWritingSquid
Summary: Ever since Nero stepped away from demon hunting to become a tattoo artist, his days have been a succession of strange clients and quiet moments with Kyrie and his strange family. A domestic as heck, fluff fic born from HennaTheAnthenna's Tattoo!Nero AU.
Relationships: Credo & Nero (Devil May Cry), Dante & Nero (Devil May Cry), Kyrie/Nero (Devil May Cry), Nero & Vergil (Devil May Cry)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 76





	Inked In Skin and Stars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hennatheantenna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hennatheantenna/gifts).



> Wrote this as a gift for Henna's birthday, and sections have been illustrated by [Cherry Vane](https://twitter.com/cherryvaneart/status/1265049886015262727), [Toni Giacopelli](https://twitter.com/tonigiacopelli/status/1264900136309714945) and [lololashk](https://twitter.com/lololashk/status/1264902985257226241).

**Mornings**

“Baby, you have to get up.”

Kyrie’s voice slipped into his ear, a breeze of love and tenderness that wrapped his heart in gentle comfort. He didn’t have to get up; _she_ had to get back in bed. He grumbled, the sound muffled by the pillow in which he’d stuffed his face, and reached backwards until his fingers clamped on Kyrie’s delicate wrist. 

Nero expected her to give in and let herself be dragged down when he pulled, but instead she yelped and jerked back. His heart jumped, suddenly wide awake, and he rolled over to turn bleary eyes on her. 

Kyrie held his favourite cup of coffee--a monster that easily contained three coffees at once, in a beautiful pink colour with the truest of inscriptions on it: _I <3 my wife._

“Sorry, I almost spilled it all on you.” She extended the cup, leaving just far enough to be out of easy range. “At least it would have gotten you out of bed. Maybe I still should.”

She smiled at her own joke and Nero instantly forgave her for threatening to spill burning-hot coffee on him. How could he not, when the morning sun plunged through her hair, illuminating it with a coppery-gold radiance, and the very sight of her washed away his fatigue?

“I’m gettin’ up.”

He did so immediately, before Kyrie decided he planned to fall right back asleep. Once he was sitting, he stretched backwards out until several bones popped. Damn, he’d really spent hours bent in a bad position like a newbie, huh? 

“All nighter?” Kyrie asked, offering him the cup.

“Almost. Couldn’t stop tweaking the design.” 

He wrapped large hands around the cup and gulped several burning hot swallows. He’d spent the entire night ink pens in hand, going through dozens of iterations of a tattoo concept for Dante. Ever since Vergil had gotten his, the goof had flung multiple joke ideas at Nero. There was no way in hell Nero was giving his uncle a pizza tramp stamp with “no olives” as its slogan, but he’d thought… maybe he could come up with something nicer.

Just a few sketches before bed, he’d told himself. What a mistake. 

None of it properly captured Dante’s spirit. Nero hadn’t realised how many facets the man until he’d tried to cram them all into a symbolic tattoo, only to discard concept after concept--too edgy, too absurd, too serious, too goofy… Just cause Dante tried to hide his big sads behind even bigger grins didn’t mean Nero never caught whifs of them. But every time he tried to reflect that properly, he wound up with some dark shit that lacked his uncle’s core energy. He must have sailed way past 4 am by the time he’d finally landed a design that let Dante shine through in his entirety. 

Nero rubbed his eyes, stifled a yawn, and looked up at Kyrie. “It’s just… I wanted it to be good, you know?”

“I do.” Kyrie bent forward and kissed his forehead. “But I also know you have a client meeting in less than an hour.”

Nero’s heart stopped. _An hour?_ He glanced at the clock, choked when it flashed bright red **09:21** at him, and scrambled out of bed with a litany of “shit shit shit”. The humongous coffee cup got slammed on the side table, covers fully thrown aside, bare threaded sleep shirt thrown overhead, and fuzzy slippers in his feet. The only pause Nero made in his rush for the shower was to plant a kiss on Kyrie’s lips. Some things deserved his full attention, no matter the emergency.

“Thank you,” he said. “I love you.”

And then he was off, more awake now than he’d even thought possible a minute ago.

###

**Client meetings**

Nero saw all sorts of people in his shop, young and old, tattoo addicts and newcomers, customers with deep meaning to the art they wanted and others who just liked the aesthetic of it--and a huge range in between. He _still_ hadn’t expected Madame Jutras to be an uptight business lady with a sleek blazer-and-skirt combo, and a delicate black hat from which hung a black net. Somehow very old school and modern all at once. The only touch of colour on her was a fancy arrangement of artificial violets attached to the hat. She sat with her legs crossed, hands on her knee, pale eyes scanning the shop front and many designs hung on the walls. 

She could not have looked more out of place, and under her judgemental gaze, Nero suddenly felt very self-conscious of his ginormous coffee cup and pink slippers. He cleared his throat and forced the doubts deep down. She was on his turf and he didn’t care if people judged his taste. The slippers were a gift from Kyrie and he would wear them as often as he pleased. They made him feel safe and loved, and he drew courage from their fuzzy warmth. Nero settled in his chair, across a small metal table that served as his desk. 

“Madame Jutras,” he greeted, “You mentioned having a special request?”

“Yes. It’s a commission, you see, but not a tattoo.” Her grip on her knees hardened and her shoulders tightened, but her expression morphed into a quiet sadness that reminded Nero of his father, on darker days. “It’s for my son, you see. He loved your work so much.”

Her shaking voice and use of past tense should’ve tipped him off, but Nero was running on fumes of sleep and had barely eaten yet. He leaned forward, smiling. “I’m sure I can make something that’d please him.”

“He’s dead.” She dropped the fact with a cutting tone Nero was sure she used to dominate meetings full of noisy men, took a deep breath, and continued with the same dangerous edge to her voice. Yeah, definitely Vergil-like. “Demons took him. He was still a teenager--seventeen, almost an adult. His swordfighting tutor had introduced him to your work. I have to admit, he’d seemed like a more down-to-earth man, not the kind to put such ideas--anyway.” She coughed, perhaps realizing she was shitting all over Nero’s life. “He was my son. I loved him, and he loved your work. We had our disagreements, but I thought, perhaps, those bright colours of yours… on his tomb…”

Saviour help him, Nero hadn’t gotten enough sleep or coffee to deal with the particular combination of grief and judgmentalism this lady embodied.

He’d heard of the kid. It’d been on the radio, and as with every devil-caused death, Nero had felt a spike of guilt at leaving the business to his father and uncle. He’d been good, but with everyone’s life taking a turn for the quieter, Nero had welcomed the opportunity for a change of pace and started his business.

So had Credo, who’d stepped down to give a wide array of _sword fighting lessons._ Somehow, Nero didn’t think there were hundreds of them in the city who’d show off Nero’s work to students. Fuck, but Credo _had_ looked exhausted when they’d had lunch together yesterday. But of course he hadn’t said anything, of course not.

Nero sighed and pushed the thoughts away. He needed to focus on this lady and her strange request. Her attitude about tattoos grated his nerves, but this wasn’t about him, or even her. 

“I’ll do my best, ma’am. Anything you can tell me about him, and any piece of mine he particularly liked… that sort o’ stuff would help.”

Her sharp features softened again, and she gathered her thoughts. Nero sipped his coffee and prepared a few blank pages on the desk. He wanted to sketch as she talked, to see what the stories inherently inspired him. Her eyes kept darting to his hands until he firmly asked her not to pay attention, that none of these were the finished product, which she would get to approve of, after which she kept her gaze on his face with exemplary discipline.

The rest of Nero’s morning was spent listening to stories of a teenager who’d once been brimming with life, absorbing his mother’s prickly grief and releasing it on paper.

###

**Family Beach Time**

After the sadness of his morning, the joyful excitement that accompanied their departure to the beach felt out of place to Nero. The kids tripped over one another to gather their plastic buckets, rakes, and shovels, then scrambled in the car and called after them. Kyrie had blessedly already prepared lunch for everyone, so they only needed to grab the sunscreen and beach towels, then they were off. The sun blanketed the city and sand in bright rays, glittering off the calm waters with blinding enthusiasm. When the first sea breeze filled his nose and lungs, and the weight of this morning’s sadness slid off Nero’s shoulders. He’d grown up near water and always sought it to calm himself, and to this day, few things could soothe him like sea-salt and the gentle lapping of the waves.

Their three orphans leaped out of the car as fast as they’d gone in, only to find their uncle waiting, arms crossed, on the pathway to the beach. Credo’s hair and beard glistened from water still, and his mostly-dry shirt stuck to his skin in a few places where he must have still been wet. Knowing him, he’d probably arrived a few hours early to turn his training routine into a swimming one.

“The three of you little rascals wouldn’t be running for the beach without protection, would you?” he asked.

Credo had a way of making the smallest crimes sound like dire mistakes, and Nero had to stifle his laughter as their three children skidded to a stop, almost slamming into one another comic-book-style. Julio was the first to respond, sneakers scuffing the dirt as he stared at the ground.

“But Uncle--”

“Julio, hush!” Amelia--a few years older and by far craftier, spread her whole hand over her little brother’s face. She lifted her chin defiantly. “Maybe we put the sunscreen in the van, or back at home.”

“I can smell lies, you know,” he replied, eyebrows arching dangerously. He held his silence for a few seconds, and Nero had been standing in the kids’ shoes often enough to know these must have felt endless to the three kids. “Sunscreen smells even worse, though, and there is absolutely not a whiff of it on you. No one passes unless they stink.”

They came back, feet scuffling. Kyrie slapped sunscreen on their back and faces while Nero gathered the cooler, umbrella, towels, and crate of toys. Credo took a few off his hands, and Nero took the opportunity to take a good hard look at his face. Bags stretched under his eyes, and although his smile came easily--it always did, around Kyrie and the orphans--it had a thinner quality than usual. 

“Had an interesting client this morning,” he said. Credo’s head snapped up. He knew what was coming, but only pinched his lips. Credo had taught him to be honest with his emotions, yet he tended to keep his own quiet. “Grieving mother. Her teenage boy loved my work. Found it through his fencing mentor.”

“Elias,” he said, soft tone studded with hurt.

“Yeah. We should share a drink. You can tell me about him.” He set his hand on Credo’s shoulder. “I know you, brother. Don’t keep it inside.”

This dragged a low chuckle out of Credo. He lifted the cooler up. “All right, but I would rather have lunch. Tomorrow, I can show you his favourite place? He would walk into lessons with takeout from there almost every time.”

“Sounds great.” Nero set a last bag over his shoulders and turned towards his three screaming children, all sprinting towards the beach once more. “Now let’s go enjoy the sun with the rest of this chaos family, right?”

“If we must.” He ran a hand over his beard, his face sliding into a serious expression immediately betrayed by the mirth in your voice. “I’m afraid the worst of the chaotic relatives have already arrived.”

Nero snorted. That could only mean the twins had set up camp and brought their usual antics to the beach. He set out, a spring to his steps. It’d been a while since they’d managed to all gather together, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t looking forward to it.

###

They found Vergil sitting on a beach chair, six bright swords spinning lazily around him as a protective shield against Dante’s inevitable invasion of his private space. Despite the sizzling heat, he was decked from head to toes in his black coat and sleeveless vest, leaving nothing but this tip of his fingers exposed to the sun’s harsh rays. He _had_ to be sweating bullets under there; Vergil always cast off all but the sleeveless vest when they sparred on hot days.

“Told ya large back tattoos in summer where a pain in the ass to protect,” Nero said, putting some of their bags down nearby. “You can chill with the swords, too. The children will keep Dante busy.”

All spinning blue swords vanished but one, which flew to Vergil’s shoulders and waited there, a silent warning. Vergil tore his gaze away from his book. “It remains an effective defense.” He wiped his brow, and added, “You may be correct about the tattoo, but I do not regret the delay.”

Nero couldn’t help his snort. Vergil called it a delay as if his endless back and forth was intentional, and not just inability to make a decision. This dude had two modes: instant, reckless action, or endless hesitation. He’d needed a whole month between musing aloud about getting a tattoo to Nero and asking him to design something, and then almost a year to decide on what, exactly, he wanted the design to be. He had settled into a symbolic representation of the three familiars that had been instrumental to his escape from Mundus, in a style that evoked stained-glass windows and their own shapes within the stalemate orbs. Griffon’s wings reached to his shoulders, and the three familiars coalesced around the Yamato’s thin blade, which went from the node his tail sprouted from and down to his lower back. It was one of Nero’s favourite pieces, not only for the design itself, but also for all it represented for Vergil and their unsteady, growing relationship.

“Glad you’re still into it,” he said, keeping his tone light and playful, “‘cause I’m not sure splittin’ and rebuildin’ your body again would rid you if it.”

Vergil’s brow pinched into a frown. “I have no plans to revisit these experiences.”

“Fucking fantastic.” Nero slung off the rest of his bags, pulled his shirt off, and quickly kicked off his sandals. “I’m dying for some water, so I’ll leave you to your fancy poems.”

“These are not--”

Whatever his protest was, Nero lost it as he sprinted away with a dismissive wave, long strides carrying him straight to the water where Kyrie had gone in with the youngest of their orphans. Julio and Amelia were already duking it out with Dante in deeper waters, but Tycho needed big floaters and was still learning his way around water, so he tended to stay out of the melee. 

For all the screaming and playing and water-fighting, it was, all in all, a quiet afternoon. Pleasant and fun, undisturbed by demons or family drama. Nero came to his children’s help and put Dante’s head under the water, Credo and Nico argued about whether egg or chicken sandwiches were better--a recurring debate that always ended with Nico declaring she had no idea how _anyone_ could eat that “egg on egg shit”. Once he’d had enough of the water, Dante plopped down in the sand and instantly switched to nap-mode. Kyrie subtly commented it would be a shame if he got sunburns and perhaps the children should apply sand-based sunscreen to him, which inevitably led to them--with Nico’s and Nero’s help--to bury Dante from head to toe in sand. 

Somehow he didn’t wake up until hours later, as the sun sunk halfway to the horizon and they were setting out dinner on a large tablecloth over the sand. Their only warning of his awakening was a quick pooling of power, all of which exploded outward in a flash fire as Dante transformed and snapped wings out. Packed sand went flying everywhere, hitting everyone around and as Nero tasted dirt, his stomach twisted-- _the food_. Two distinct bursts of powers had answered Dante’s, however, and as Nero turned, he found Credo in full demon form, his shining tower shield protecting their dinner. He must have moved through Vergil’s slowed time.

Vergil, of course, had instead gone straight for his brother with a “I’ll make _you_ eat sand.” and within seconds they were two full demons grappling in the sand, to Julio’s great thrill. 

“Hey, no fighting during family meetings!” he called. How many times would he have to warn these two? They were worse than children. “Now come sit your ass at the table and eat like normal people.”

Dante had been on top when Nero called, and the moment they both transformed back, he rubbed Vergil’s face in the sand. This, of course, meant the moment he turned away, Vergil leaped on his back, cloak snapping. Nero groaned as he watched his father even the odds, but they thankfully stopped right after. For now, anyway.

They’d cleaned out most of the table--of food and dishes both--within an hour, and Credo started packing the bags. Nero hadn’t noticed how naturally he took up these tasks until he’d had to watch over children himself, but when he thought back on his youngest years, he’d always gotten to play with Kyrie right until they needed to leave. Someone had done all the hard work while he wasn’t looking, and still did. Nero itched to help, but if the twins meant to leave--and Dante had put boots and pants back on, signalling as much--he had a last business to take care of.

“Yo, Dante.”

His uncle’s head swirled around as he heard his name. He flung his coat over his shoulder and strode closer to the table. His lips parted for what was, without a doubt, some smartass comment, so Nero didn’t give him time. 

“Got something to show you.” He kept his tone casual and retrieved the folded piece of paper from his pocket. He’d made sure to crumple it a bit, just so it’d look less serious. If Dante figured out he’d spent hours on this, he’d bail out from the pressure. Better make it seem like half a joke. Nero unfolded his design and gave it a slight shake. “Couldn’t get your bullshit outta my mind while I played with designs, so this happened.”

“Yeah?” 

He snatched the design up, eyebrows raised. Nero’s heart slammed against his chest, and the moment it was out of his hands, he regretted bringing it up. This was a silly idea, nowhere near good enough, and Dante would mock him till the end of time. Nero’s mouth dried as his uncle’s gaze moved from the composition of Ebony and Ivory framing his red amulet, then up to the Faust hat above them. Its scarf swirled back down to create a banner on which Nero had, in a 4-AM-daze, inscribed “A Little Yeehaw, As A Treat”.

Dante’s never-ending smirk shifted, then, genuine happiness curving his lips. Long seconds trickled by, each threatening to end Nero’s life, then Dante finally commented, an unusual roughness to his voice. 

“Ya got some real talent, kid.” Silence again, but this time relief buzzed in Nero’s ears until his uncle continued. “Wouldn’t mind gettin’ that one.”

Nero’s grin broke out of its own volition. Fuck, Dante actually liked it! “Well, ya know where to find me.” He yanked the paper back, jumping to his feet. “I’ll make you a copy, but I ain’t lettin’ you bring the original back. You’ll lose it in a day.”

He shoved the drawing in his pocket with jerky movements, trying his best to hide the way his hands were shaking. He hadn’t realized how nervous he’d been. Or maybe it was too much coffee and too little sleep. Yeah, totally that, he had this under control. 

Then Dante placed a hand on his shoulder, all casual. “Thanks, Nero.”

Words choked on their way out, so Nero replied with a dismissive hand. He was saved from the inevitable teasing when Julio came running at high speed, leaping into them, obviously certain either of them would catch him--and he was right: Dante yanked him right up to his shoulders. 

“Uncle Credo says we’re leaving with him. Everyone but Nero and Miss Kyrie, he said.” Julio leaned on Dante’s head as if he hadn’t grown far too tall for that. “I didn’t know you had plans.”

Neither did Nero, but when he glanced at Credo, he found him whispering with Kyrie. Perhaps _he_ wasn’t the one with the plans. Kyrie always had a way to surprise him with quiet moments right when he needed them, and between the short night, chaotic afternoon, and heavy morning… he’d love time alone with her. He grinned at Julio and crossed his arms, adopting a mysterious air even if he knew jack shit.

“Life’s full of surprises, huh?” he said. “You better be good tonight.”

Julio pouted. “I’m always good.”

This earned him a snort from both Dante and Nero, then Dante headed off with the kid, mercilessly teasing him about all the times he hadn’t been ‘good’--not that Dante was a role model in that department. Nero waved at him, half his mind still reeling from Dante’s thanks. The two of them were more likely to play rough and sling insults at one another on any given day, and he was never prepared for those occasions Dante let the persona slip more than usual. It was weird--weird but nice. 

And now it seemed he’d get a whole evening all alone with Kyrie, to boot. Nero grinned, his mind already dreaming of a starry sky and his beautiful girl in the crook of his arms.

###

**Guiding Star**

Kyrie did not, in the end, have any concrete plans. Or so she told Nero once everyone else was gone and he’d walked up behind her, sliding an arm around her bare midriff and pulling her in. She had simply seen an opportunity to be alone with him for a spontaneous date and, thanks to Credo’s unending patience and generosity (he was, after all, responsible not only for Amelia, Julio, and Tycho, but also had to endure Nico all evening, since she had insisted on helping), seized it. 

Nero, foolishly, had believed her. 

They’d gone for another swim, just the two of them breaching the ocean waves, letting salt and water envelop their skin and minds and soul. They’d swam, excitedly chasing one another or floating in silence side by side, until the sun had long since sank behind the horizon, leaving a starry night sky above their heads. Their skin had pruned to hell and back by the time they crawled out of the sea, picking a random sitting spot to dry in while they leaned on each other and looked at the sky above.

The stars smeared the deep blue with a smattering of pale dots, each shining with a quiet peacefulness that Nero envied. Life always seemed simple for them: they shone on, pale yellow or cold white, and while their position shifted a little every day, in Nero’s mind they always knew where to be. It was silly, he knew, but he’d spent so long not knowing who he was or what he wanted out of life--so much of it that he’d inked his truth into his skin at the first opportunity.

In all the turmoil, though, Kyrie had always been by his side--his own guiding star, steady in his life. Even when he’d mused about his first tattoo, she’d been there, leaning against him as she did now, encouraging him. Would Nero even have had the courage to not only get his first tattoo, but learn to design and ink them without her?

Wordlessly, he passed an arm around Kyrie’s waist, pulled her closer, and placed a kiss on the top of her head. She smiled against him then tilted her head up.

“Something brought that on?”

“Not really. Just thinking about how much I love you.”

A blush crept up his cheeks as the words tumbled out of his mouth. Fuck but it sounded corny when he said them aloud. Still kinda worth it, with the radiant smile it earned him. Kyrie stretched upward, answering with a kiss instead of words, and Nero’s hand slid along her neck and to her cheek. She tasted of sea salt and strawberry lip balm, and he closed his eyes, losing himself in the moment. 

When he next reopened his eyes, the sea on his left glowed blue.

A small gasp escaped Nero as he stared, eyes wide, at the bright light sprinkling the waves, dancing with them. A strange energy emanated from it, one he belatedly recognized as demonic. He tensed, but Kyrie set a hand against his chest. 

“It’s all right, Nero. Only the vestiges of something your father banished.”

Nero’s brow furrowed as he worked through the implications of that. “So you _did_ have a plan,” he said. “You knew this would happen!”

“Perhaps,” Kyrie said.

But Nero knew her too well--he knew the way her eyes crinkled with pleasure at a successful surprise, or the slight pull at the corner of her lips as she tried to hide a lie she was all-too-pleased with. So he kissed that corner, and her full lips again, giving all of his attention to her first. He almost did not want to return it to the sea, yet something in the light pulled at him, grabbing him from inside and capturing his gaze. They stared in silence, captivated by the glowing valse washing up ashore. 

“It’s beautiful,” he whispered at length. “Like the stars themselves wanted to bathe in the ocean.”

To think such gorgeous light came from a demon…

Kyrie leaned against him, quiet safe for a small nod. Perhaps it did not surprise her as it did him. She had always been able to see beauty in the darkest times, to see through the ugly and dangerous nature of devils and find something to love. Nero’s kindness didn’t come that easily, and he’d needed long years to love himself or his family. But he did now, wholly, with the countless flaws they all had. 

“Thank you, Kyrie.” For the time alone on the beach, all that had come before, and all that would follow. “I’m glad we can share this together.”

“Nero…” She closed her eyes, head against his shoulder, delicate hands on his. “Let’s make this last. Forever.”

Nero smiled, eyes rising towards the stars. It didn’t matter whether she meant their evening or their love: he couldn’t agree more. 

“Forever.”


End file.
